


Aesthetics

by jtav



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Disfigurement, F/M, Physical Disability, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jtav/pseuds/jtav
Summary: In a world different from the one we know, a scarred and bitter prosecutor models for a brilliant young artist. The two misfits might  be each other's only hope against the shadows.





	1. The Demon Within

It wasn't Leblanc, but Sae liked the café in Junkodo. The coffee was better than anything from a chain bookstore had a right to be, there was enough space to work, and she liked knowing that any reference material she needed was only a few floors away. And most people didn't stare. It was a cold, soggy April day, the kind that made her leg ache, but focusing on that would just prove the director right about her. She took a binder and a pen out of her bag and began.  
   
Another mental shutdown, and with the most graphic consequences yet. Two dead and dozens injured in a crash that had left an entire section of track a ruin of twisted metal. ‘Unexplained psychosis’, the papers were already saying with only the most cursory of eyewitness accounts. One man might suddenly succumb to undiagnosed mental illness, but there had been dozens in the last three years. Which suggested someone with the capacity to drive them mad. The means were unknown, and therefore who had the opportunity was unknowable, but motive was something she could work with. Who benefited from the deaths of a minor diplomat and businessman and making the Minister of Transport look like a fool?  
   
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as Sae became aware of someone's gaze on her. Most people no longer stared, but she was never entirely safe. She groaned. The occupational therapist had taught her how to handle the situation—smile, redirect, give a short answer if they insisted on asking questions—but she had never been good at kindness, even before the yakuza set fire to her apartment. She raised her head, ready to do battle.  
   
Her opponent was about sixteen, but even taller than she was and so gaunt that his Kosei uniform seemed a size too big for him. Shaggy bangs fell a little over one eye as he stared at her. And yet, he lacked the mix of wide-eyed curiosity, pity, and horror that she had become accustomed to over the last two and a half years. His brow furrowed. Just as Ayumi used to do when she was planning a piece. Sae noticed the open sketchbook on the table before him, and the art pen he twirled between his slim, pale fingers. Exactly as Ayumi used to. He was _sketching_ her.  
   
Emotions and thoughts struck Sae like a tsunami, too many and varied for her to keep her head above water. Shock and grief and a deep, burning shame. It was one thing to let herself be objectified by her girlfriend, it was another for a stranger to sketch her without asking, to be displayed like some relic at a sideshow. She wanted to charge his chair and rip up the sketchbook. He probably thought the scars were an interesting technical challenge.  
   
Her leg throbbed again, and Sae stayed where she was. The unfortunate truth was that righteous anger took energy, and she only had so much that had to be carefully portioned out like medication in a measuring cup. He was only a high schooler. Whatever he drew would go no farther than his teacher, who would hopefully give him a lesson on the evils of fetishization.  
   
A man joined him at the table, and Sae's gut clenched. So much for that. Even she had to admit that Ichiryusai Madarame was the most talented artist of his generation, but she still had to fight the urge to throw him out a window every time she saw him, and the feeling was probably mutual. Anyone who extolled the virtues of tradition as much as he did should have been gagged. Not that devotion to tradition had prevented him from sleeping with a Diet member’s wife, or throwing a truly impressive tantrum when Sae had arrested her for improperly reporting the value of her art collection. She could almost feel sorry for his student. Almost.  
   
But Madarame's affairs were no longer her business. She returned to work. _Who benefits? Who becomes Minister of Transport if this one resigns? And who benefitted from the last shutdown? If there's a cabal, I could be dealing with a paid assassin rather than a loan agitator acting out. But where there's an assassin, there should be a money trail._ Sae rubbed her temples. It was chasing the yakuza all over again. Except whoever was behind this was using methods that bordered on magic.  
   
_Then why do you bother?_ asked a soft, too-sweet voice inside her head. _Are you still under the delusion that you're still the Champion of Justice? They killed Dad and left you crippled. All that matters now is surviving_.  
   
She had been very stupid when she was younger, thinking she could change the world, drinking in the applause of a public who saw her as the hope against the organized crime choking the life from them. Stupidity had brought the fire, and the public had abandoned her just as quickly when she refused to lie down and quietly grieve her losses away from genteel eyes. There were two strikes against her now, not just the disadvantages of being a woman who wanted more from life than marriage and motherhood, but cracking this case would earn her enough power that no one could ever break her again.  
   
“Excuse me,” said a deep voice above her.  
   
The student stood before her, his hands outstretched in supplication. "You—I am not sure how to begin."  
   
The dull ache throbbed in Sae's leg. At this rate, she was going to have to take her medication tonight. "Not stammering would be a good start. So would leaving people who are very busy alone." Her voice cut like a knife. That, and the scars usually sent both criminals and people with no sense of boundaries diving for cover.  
   
He seemed oblivious. "But I can't leave you alone! You are the most extraordinary creature I've seen! Your hands are a part of my search for true beauty!"  
   
As she’d thought: just another deviant looking for something to excite him. "Leave me alone before I—” Sae processed the rest of his speech. "Did you say my hands?"  
   
They looked down at her hands together. Those she had permitted to flatter her for her looks had had so many options that her hands had never received particular attention, but they were pale and unscarred, a hint of what she had been.  
   
"I desire only to capture true beauty. I simply couldn't stay still and silent. You must model for me."  
   
Sae closed her eyes as phantom hands tugged at her jacket and stroked her neck. The boy couldn't have known what he was asking. She had modelled all right, in ways that would have shocked and horrified those who had seen her as a role model and savior. Even law students and prosecutors needed their outlets, and painting could be foreplay as much as it could be art. But that, like chasing after villains she couldn't hope to defeat, belonged to another life. She swallowed and forced her eyes open. "No."  
   
"But—”  
   
"Leave her be, Yusuke.” Madarame joined them and smiled a smile that was just a little too warm and sympathetic. "The error is mine. I told him that you were a great lover of the arts and had provided inspiration to my colleagues in the past. "  
   
Her eyes narrowed. So Madarame had put his protégé up to her latest little embarrassment. There had always been rumors about what happened to people who crossed him, and apparently even the great master wasn't above a little pettiness. "You might have told him that I only ever worked with those who earned my trust."  
   
"Oh, Yusuke's desires are entirely innocent, aren't they, my boy?" He placed a fatherly hand on Yusuke's shoulder and laughed. "He goes where his art takes him, and sometimes I think he searches for someone who doesn't even truly exist. But then, that is the nature of our quest for beauty." He sobered and bowed his head. "I should have informed him of how your physical injuries have wounded your spirit as well."  
   
The edges of Sae's vision blurred. Wounded. Scarred. Broken. _You really should have had the courtesy to die like your father, but the least you can do is just sit at home and be a nice little symbol that will never make anyone uncomfortable._ She was no longer an idol or someone either man or woman desired, but she would never let some self-promoting reactionary decide how wounded she was. She fixed her gaze on Yusuke. "What do you want me to do for you?"  
   
He blinked at her for several long moments. If Madarame had hopes of unleashing Yusuke on the art world, he really should have taught him how better to deal with people. But then Yusuke cleared his throat. "Sensei is not wrong when he says that I'm chasing after something that cannot exist. No mortal can embody perfect beauty. But the artist can blend things together to create an ideal for man to strive for." His voice grew faster and louder as he spoke, until the people at the surrounding tables were staring at them.  
   
Artists. Their passion could be intoxicating, but they always seemed to reduce people to canvas and paint eventually. "So like a collage, with me as the hands?"  
   
"Exactly." He thought for a moment. "Well, not exactly. I don't want to cut your hands off."  
   
The art press was going to eat him alive.  
   
But Yusuke seemed just as oblivious to the spectators as he did her attempts to get him to go away. "I only wish to do some sketches. A few hours of your time at most. We can work anywhere you like. I have no money for a modeling fee, but you would be doing both me and art a tremendous service. I would be willing to do almost anything to repay you."  
   
Hands. He only wanted her hands. But that was more than anyone had wanted from her in years, when the director didn't even want her mind. The Champion of Justice had been a foolish delusion, but surely there was something from those days that was worth saving? And it wasn't as if there was anything improper about being his model. No need to show him more of her scarring than he had already seen. She was merely taking an interest in the next generation.  
   
Decision made, Sae fished out a business card from the case. "I'm quite busy at the moment, but I check my voicemail regularly."  
   
He took the card and read it. "A prosecutor. How momentous. Why don't I give you my contact information as well? I'm always free." Before she or Madarame could say anything, he was scribbling at the bottom of her notes, heedless of the content. _Yusuke Kitagawa, Apprentice Artist_ , and a phone number at the bottom.  
   
“That's enough for now, Yusuke." There was hardness beneath the gentleness of Madarame's voice. "I suppose I should thank you for this surprising kindness towards my student, Ms. Niijima." He marched Yusuke out of the café.  
   
Sae tried her best to forget the strange interlude and returned to work, but the ache in her leg knifed at her as the hour wore on. Finally, she gave up and closed her binder with a grimace. The worst part about her injury was knowing that success required her to push on and being simply unable to. Damn the yakuza. Damn her father. And damn her.  
   
She had spent more than she should have on the apartment in Yoyogi. Three bedrooms on the ground floor of an apartment building with a vigilant doorman and in a good enough neighborhood that miscreants would have to spend extra effort to threaten what was left of her family. Handrails installed and anything vaguely suggestive of a step ruthlessly eliminated. Sae hobbled to the couch and collapsed with as much grace as she could muster.  
   
"Sis, you're home!" Makoto emerged from the kitchen, looking too frazzled and pensive for someone whose school year had only just begun. Sae's heart twisted. She looked so much like their father. She thought like him too, believing so ardently in justice and that any problem could be solved with aikido or brainpower. Sae and her father had made sure that she never knew of their sleepless nights pouring over investigation notebooks. A mistake in retrospect. Someday, Makoto would have to learn to bend before she broke.  
   
"You're in pain.” Makoto frowned. "Do you need me to get your medication?"  
   
_Probably. But I'm not looking forward to the aftermath._ "Not yet. How's school. I trust you're performing adequately as student council president?"  
   
"It's not as glamorous as I thought it would be. Mostly I'm running errands for Principal Kobyakawa. And the other students seem to dislike me. More than usual."  
   
Ah. She had never been meant to be anyone's parent, but this she had known even before the accident. She gestured for Makoto to stand before her and took her hands gently but firmly in her own. "There are those who will want to see you fail because you're a woman in authority. Our only hope of success is to do that boring work and do it so well that those in power have no choice but to recognize us. To endure that isolation. You understand?"  
   
Makoto nodded, but without any conviction. "But surely I'm supposed to be more than a glorified errand girl? I'm supposed to be a voice for the students? Protect them?"  
   
A warning chill settled across Sae's skin. So much like their father. Like her, before. "Did something happen at school?"  
   
"No, yes, I'm not sure. I'm hearing rumors, vile rumors about a teacher. That he...takes liberties he shouldn't with the female students."  
   
No. Shujin was in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, a jewel in the education system. Such things shouldn't happen there. But of course they did. Every day, things happened in Tokyo that could make a grown woman vomit, and the powerful were the perpetrators as often as not. Her grip tightened. "Has anyone touched you?"  
   
"Don't worry about me. I'm as safe as I can be. It's the other students I worry about. If this teacher is doing this...”  
   
If a teacher was abusing students and Makoto was already hearing rumors about it, then it had probably been going on for some time. Which meant that he probably had the backing of the administration. Which meant a mere student would be crushed if she went against him. "Do you have any proof?"  
   
"No. I'd have to investigate."  
   
Investigate. Another Niijima putting herself in harm's way. Sae's nails dug into Makoto's skin hard enough for her to gasp. "It's not your job to investigate. Keep your head down and make yourself as useful as you can to the school. Make it look good."  
   
"But—”  
   
She could see Makoto in her mind's eye, gathering evidence with a thoroughness that would make their father proud. Confronting the teacher. Being mocked, expelled. Or worse. There was always worse for a woman. "You're just a student. You don't have the power to change the world. The only way to get power is to pass your exams and get a good job." _And pray you don't end up like me._ "Promise me that you'll keep yourself safe.”  
   
"I promise." She sounded like a child being ordered to eat her vegetables, but Sae chose to believe that her sister wasn't stupid.  
   
"Good. I'm...going to take something and go to bed.”  
   
Makoto flinched almost imperceptibly. They both knew what ‘taking something’ would mean. "Do you want me to help you undress or stay with you?"  
   
"I want you to study and get some sleep. Your last year in high school will be critical to your future." She wasn't a broken thing needed the help of a child.  
   
Sae hauled herself to her feet and shuffled to the bedroom without a backward glance. She had made this apartment into a new home. She had abandoned naïve ideals, but she hadn't been able to shake her love of beautiful things. The nightstand was a rich cherry, and one of Matsuko's abstracts she hadn't been able to part with hung on the wall.  
   
She caught her reflection in the mirror. Raised pink scars slashed across the left side of her face and snaked down her neck until they were swallowed by her turtleneck. Her left pants leg was slightly more subtle, a bit of bulkiness the only hint at the brace and marring underneath. A year in and out of the hospital for rehabilitation and surgeries, physical therapy and skin grafts, and it was the best they could do. She frowned. At least her hair had grown back. It wasn't that she had been vain. Her true value had always been and would always be her intellect. But she missed soft kisses and the sheer desire. Her looks had led to unwanted attention, but not all the attention had been unwanted. She had known how to be both the lover and the lawyer.  
   
She undressed by halting, irregular degrees until there was nothing to do but grab the bottle on the nightstand. The oxycodone was the only painkiller that worked worth a damn, but the side effects were such that every pill felt like a defeat. But better defeated than in agony. There was always some part of her that hoped the next time would be different.  
   
Sae awoke, as she always did, inside a casino. She stood at one end of a giant roulette wheel that dominated the floor. LOSE, announced the letters beneath her feet. The green felt was scratched and scarred. A neon design of lady justice flickered above her, casting red and orange lights on the floor. There was only one other person in the room, but Sae heard what sounded like hundreds. Everywhere and nowhere.  
   
"Anything to win!"  
   
"Losers will be punished!"  
   
"Someone? Help me! Please, help me!"  
   
The sound of slot machines mingled with the screens until it was impossible to tell the difference. Sae rounded and almost overbalanced. Couldn't someone else hear the screaming? The agony that occurred in this place every single day? There was something she could do. Had done. She had been able to win fair and square.  
   
"Fair and square?" said the too-sweet voice. Heels clattered on the floor as the lone figure approached. Her almost exact mirror, except for the golden eyes and her face and body being whole. She wore a cocktail dress that puddled to the floor, with a plunging neckline and slit up the side that Sae never would have tried outside the bedroom and maybe not even then. She twirled a yellow rose between gloved fingers. "The game was always rigged in our favor. And you still managed to screw it up.”  
   
Sae glared at the whatever-she-was.  
   
"I told you before: I'm you. The whisper in the dark that you won't acknowledge. The real you."  
   
"I have dress sense." Her voice cracked as another scream cut through the air. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. "Stop that."  
   
"What makes you think we can stop it?" Her lips twisted into a grimace that Sae had never worn in the waking world. "We tried and we were nearly destroyed. You know that justice is a lie. Why do you cling to this foolish honor? Why do you try to protect the girl? She's nothing but a parasite!"  
   
"She's my sister!" Foolish in her idealism, but still all that the flames had left her. "I love her!”  
   
"There's only power and glory and the thrill of victory." Laughter rang through the casino until the walls shook. "How delightful! There's still a part of you that wants to be the Champion of Justice. A knight in shining armor. I'm sure the artist would be thrilled with that. It's a lie, of course. Let me remind you what kind of knight we really are."  
   
Flames wreathed her as more laughter filled the air and a demon took her place. A knight even taller than her, with black armor that twisted in on itself. Her helmet had been broken. Rotting flesh hung off what was left of the left side of her face, and she gave Sae a skull's grin.  
   
_I am thou. Thou art I. You will learn._  
   
Sae woke with a start. She was in a bed. Her bed. She touched her face gingerly and felt only scars. Just another drug-induced nightmare. She was not either of the two monsters that plagued her dreams. She never would be.  
   
_You will learn._


	2. Beauty and Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: emotional abuse, ableism

Sensei's eyes were downcast, his brows knit together, his lips twisted into a frown. Yusuke's stomach twisted. He knew that look. Sensei wanted something. Yusuke gazed at the abstract sitting on the easel, the paint still drying.  _Garden of Troubled Delight_  had been a difficult piece, an attempt to wrestle with bouts of melancholy that were increasingly seizing him. Deeply personal.

"My boy, I need your help again." Sensei's voice was soft and quavering. "The gallery wishes to see what pieces I have for the exhibition, but my art block..." He looked up, his eyes bright with tears, and gestured to the painting. "I need this."

Yusuke swallowed. He owed Sensei much. He had a home and attended high school. Most orphans couldn't say that. And Sensei had taught Yusuke everything he knew about color and line, about the artist's duty to pursue true beauty. He painted the work that had kindled Yusuke's artistic spirit. But… Personal, he thought again. "It's not very good. Perhaps one of the watercolors?"

Sensei shook his head. "Landscapes aren't in vogue right now. The art world today is all about those dark, bold colors, strong emotions. And you've certainly expressed those." He frowns. "You must learn that the world requires compromise. If word got out about my block, well you wouldn't want me to starve, would you? No one else would tolerate your eccentricities."

His eccentricities. That was one way to phrase it. Yusuke had always known that he didn't quite fit in. He always said the wrong thing in the wrong tone at the wrong time. It was why no one at Kosei will tolerate him. Why he was so lucky to have someone to look out for him. Or so Sensei assured him. He bowed. "Whatever you need, as always."

Sensei clapped his hands together and laughed. "Excellent! I'll just be off to the museum to tell them about my newest creation."

It was Yusuke's turn to frown. He had never been allowed to go to these business meetings, at first because he was told he was too young to sit still, and then for an ever flowing cascade of reasons. Excuses, whispered some ungrateful part of his mind. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might accompany you?"

Sensei started. "I don't think that's a very good idea. Finances, business talk. I would hate to sully your artistic spirit."

That had always been enough before, but Yusuke felt some wild traitorous rebellion rising within him. He had given Sensei a fragment of his soul. Surely that warranted a trip to the gallery and watching as the business of art was transacted? "You just said that the world required compromise. I cannot stay under your tutelage forever. I must learn how to negotiate my own fees and deal with gallery owners. You can't protect me forever."

It was a long time before Sensei spoke. He sighed like he had when Yusuke had asked him why he couldn't give Ken White Day chocolate. "Your mind works very differently from others, Yusuke. Do you remember when Mrs. Iesuhu visited and how at sea you were? The business of art is more about socializing and having friends. You aren't skilled at those things. You would fly into a rage if you tried." He put a hand on Yusuke's shoulder. "You need me to protect you."

Sensei was right. He knew how to analyze paintings and sculptures, but people had always been a mystery. It was one of the reasons he had been drawn to traditions and formalities that so many people his age thought were outdated. They gave him rules of conduct he could memorize and remember instead of hoping and failing to guess right. "How will I ever learn without practice?"

"It will come in time. You are right. Someday you will leave this humble adobe, and I will have no choice but to set you loose upon the world." There was something in Sensei's voice that Yusuke couldn't quite read. Yusuke would almost call it sinister, but that made no sense. "Be a good boy and see that this place is tidied up by the time I return." And with that, Sensei left.

Yusuke's shoulders slumped as he surveyed the house. Shack, really. It hadn't been so bad once upon a time, when there had been other students and Natsohuki had snuck him treats. The world truly made no sense. They lived here because Sensei had insisted that it was better to stay apart from material things, even if it meant that Yusuke's room had no heat even in winter. And yet, he spoke so casually about the necessity of dealmaking. Something Yusuke seemed incapable of. And he took Yusuke's most personal projects as payment.

The traitorous rebellion returned. In more than made no sense. It was unfair. Yusuke was poor and fatherless and all his attempts to equal  _Sayuri_  had been miserable failures, but surely he deserved one thing that was for him alone? One thing that even Sensei couldn't take from him? One chance at pure beauty?

Pure beauty. He snapped his fingers. Of course! Sensei thought his attempt at fashioning the perfect woman was foolishness at best. He would have no interest in a few sketches. And that prosecutor—Ms. Niijima, wasn't it?—had agreed to model for him. Finding her had really been quite extraordinary. He had never seen hands so perfectly shaped before, the fingers slim but not delicate. That they had come attached to a scarred face had made them more remarkable. Like finding a Caravaggio in the ruins of a plundered museum.

He plucked her card from his pocket and dialed the number. "Niijima." Her tone was gruff, perhaps tired.

Yusuke plunged ahead before he lost his nerve. "Ms. Niijima? This is Yusuke Kitagawa. We spoke about you modeling for me? I was wondering if you were free? I have time to work."

"The artist from the bookstore?" Papers shuffled in the background. "Why not? Today has been—give me half an hour to finish typing this."

It would take Yusuke that long to get to Yoyogi. "I'll be right there." He grabbed his jacket and was out the door in moments.

Yusuke had seen and nodded at the well-to-do when he helped Sensei with exhibitions and when for members came to Kosei, but seeing where they lived was different. The address Niijima's card directed him to was a newish high-rise that gleamed in the sunlight. There was green on the sidewalks, and a boutique across the street. The pedestrians wore the suits that were so ubiquitous in Tokyo, but they seemed to fit better and the blacks of the blazers seemed blacker, the buttons shinier.

He entered the apartment building. More tasteful elegance in the lobby. Yusuke stared. A marble statue of a family of four, mother and father gazing down at their two children with affection even Yusuke could recognize. Hidei Kidosha was fond of crafting such familial scenes. Yusuke thought his work was pedestrian and idealized, but Sensei assured him that the public adored any celebration of people having children. Such an installation would have been a lucrative commission, so Sensei must have a point.

A security guard looked him up and down, and Yusuke was suddenly conscious of how poorly his school uniform fit. Sensei had earned the right to mingle among the elite no matter how he dressed, but Yusuke was only a poor student. "What are you doing here?" barked the guard.

Yusuke cleared his throat and tried to ignore the sweat on his palms. "I—I—" What was the expected answer again? "I'm an artist." No, wait. He wouldn't care about that part. "I'm here to see Sae Niijima. She's expecting me."

"One moment." The guard pressed a series of buttons on a console. "Ms. Niijima? There's someone to see you. An artist, he says."

"Show him up." She sounded no more welcoming than the guard.

"Take a left down the first hallway and a right at the second intersection. Apartment 451 will be the third on your left."

An apartment on the ground floor? How very strange. When Sensei had told him Ms. Niijima sometimes modeled for artists, he had pictured her living somewhere with panoramic views. How foolish of him. She had limped horribly at the bookstore. Standing in an elevator would be a trial.

He managed to find the apartment without getting lost. He swallowed. No reason to be nervous. Ms. Niijima's tone had been brusque, but she had agreed to model for him. Twice. He knocked.

"One moment." Yusuke heard the uneven thud of footsteps, and then the door opened and he stood face to face with Ms. Niijima. He stared. She wore the same severe blazer and simple jewelry that he had seen at the bookstore, but new details revealed themselves. He had thought her eyes brown at first glance, but there was a truly remarkable shade of red lurking within. A symbol of the inner fire of determination, perhaps. Or something more. And the way they stood out against the almost marble perfection of the last half of her face… the art gods were smiling on him at last.

"Are you going to come in or just stare?" More barking. Something about Yoyogi must incline the citizenry to gruffness.

She limped back and allowed Yusuke to push his way inside. The apartment was yet more tasteful elegance. The leather of the couch, the polish of the hardwood, the sheer solidness of everything spoke of both wealth and impeccable taste. Not the decadence Yusuke have been taught was a peril of material success. The only oddity was that he could see no rugs of any kind. A pair of dress shoes, as black as Niijima's blazer, but slightly rounder than normal, sat by the door. Yusuke stepped out of his own and put them beside hers.

"Let's get on with it. Where do you want me?"

He spotted a black lacquered table. "There." They sat opposite each other, and Yusuke retrieved his sketchbook from his bag. "Rest your hands side-by-side. Thank you."

He opened to a blank page and began. Reference sketching was a necessary but tedious part of any artist's work. It wasn't true artistry, merely checking off poses so that he could be sure of his accuracy when he finally began to create his true beauty. But as overwhelmed as he had been by the perfection of her hands, her eyes distracted him and his gaze continually wandered to her face even as he sketched her slim fingers.

Those eyes narrowed and flashed, the red transforming from q dull ember to a blazing fire. "Stop that."

Yusuke tilted his head. Stop what? He was only sketching his model. Model. Ah, yes. Artists were supposed to make pleasing conversation and put their models at ease. "The weather has been quite pleasant, has it not?"

She blinked. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm sorry. I was unaware there was a subject. I assumed you were angry because my silence displeased you."

She inhaled and exhaled, and her nostrils flared. Yusuke thought he saw a vein on her temple. "I'm angry because you haven't been able to stop staring at my scars since you got here. If I wanted to be fetishized, I've had more than enough opportunity."

It was his turn to blink. Her scars? He supposed they were difficult to miss and something of a tragedy considering how beautiful the rest of her was, but they were hardly worth staring at. "Oh no. I've been looking at your eyes. They really are remarkable. I feel foolish for noticing your hands first. They are merely aesthetically pleasing, but your eyes, well I could create a piece that truly speaks to the viewer if I incorporated them. May I sketch them as well? I'm aware I already owe you a considerable debt, but I must seize opportunities where I can."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You really weren't staring at my scars?"

"Why would I? They're boring."

Her face changed. Softer, pained and...hopeful? "I forget how eccentric artists can be."

Yusuke flinched. Eccentric. Even when he stood on the cusp of creating something truly worthwhile, he was reminded of the wall between him the rest of the world that prevented normal interaction. That made him as dependent on Sensei as a child. He bent over the sketchbook. "I know I don't behave the way others expect. Please don't remind me of my deficiencies."

Niijima's lowered her head to force Yusuke to meet her gaze. "I prefer your eccentricities." She twisted her lips into something that was probably supposed to be a smile. "I don't act how others expect either."

Yusuke looked around the apartment that was so much grander than the shack he knew. "And yet, it doesn't seem to have harmed you any. You must tell me how you do it."

"Quite simple, really. You merely have to live when you're supposed to die and stare down every judge and politician who prefers you to be a ghost."

"The simplest thing in the world," he agreed.

Niijima chuckled. The sound was as harsh as the rest of her but the fire was back in her eyes. "Definitely ecc—extraordinary. I can spare a few more minutes. Sketch whatever you want."

Silence descended once more, and Yusuke was lost to the world of paper and pen and the light in Niijima's eyes.

"Sis, I'm home!" A new voice pierced his reverie of creation. "Do you want—oh! I didn't realize you had company."

Yusuke turned and suppressed the urge to glare at the interloper. She had dark hair and eyes the same color as Niijima's, though there was no sign of the spark that had derailed his plans for this session. He stood and gave what he hoped was a sufficiently polite bow. "Hello."

Niijima didn't stand. "Mr. Kitagawa, this is my sister Makoto. Makoto, this is Yusuke Kitagawa. He's an art student I'm working with."

Makoto's lips rounded into a soft 'o.' "You're modeling again? I'm so happy for you."

Sae glared at her and waved her away. "Just some sketch work. It's nothing. School went well?"

"Same as always. Second-year has a transfer student. He has some kind of criminal record, apparently. Even the third-years were gossiping about it." She made a noise in the back of her throat. "Don't people have anything better to do than gossip?"

"They rarely do. Just keep yourself out of trouble. You have a bright future ahead of you. I'd hate to see it derailed by jealous slander."

For a moment, Yusuke thought Makoto would argue, but her shoulders slumped. "You're right of course."

"Good. Do you mind cooking dinner? It's been...a frustrating day."

"Frustrating? Did something happen at work? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just an annoyance that I tried and failed to avoid." Her gaze shifted between Makoto and Yusuke. "And there's no sense in boring Mr. Kitagawa."

"If you're sure." She flushed. "Is tuna all right?"

Tuna. Yusuke's mouth watered at the thought. He hadn't eaten since this morning, and then only a little. His stomach growled, and the sound seemed to echo through the apartment. He froze. An artist might be forced to detach himself from the material world, but he should never let it show outwardly. But the Niijima's were staring at him. "Would you like to join us?" asked Makoto.

He really should refuse. One didn't impose on the hospitality of such recent acquaintances. "I have no wish to trouble you."

Sae crossed her arms. "It would be more trouble if I had to explain to the paramedics why you passed out from hunger. Stay." Not a request, but an order.

Yusuke couldn't fight both his stomach and propriety. "At least let me help."

He and Makoto went to the kitchen. It was as nice as the rest of the apartment, and the quality and variety of the ingredients so casually stacked in the shelves would have made him weak-kneed even if he wasn't hungry. "You must create true works of art with these ingredients."

He must have said the wrong thing again because Makoto frowned. "Actually it's pretty normal tuna. Sis is always tired when she comes home from work and I have cram school this year, so it's pretty basic."

"A shame." The things he could do with the pepper alone...

A few minutes later, they had created some tolerable, pedestrian fish lightly seasoned on a bed of rice with some vegetables. Still, one plate held as much as he and two other apprentices would eat put together. They returned to the table where Sae had modeled for him. Makoto put down the dishes while he placed the knives and chopsticks. He took a seat opposite Sae and waited. He mustn't eat so quickly that he appeared unseemly. And, whispered that traitorous spirit, it wasn't as if Sensei would feed him like this.

"Eat," Sae said with a wave of her chopsticks. Something about being a prosecutor must lend itself to having a dominating personality.

Yusuke dove into his fish. Even if it was basic, it was delicious; and in what seemed no time at all, his portion was almost gone. He looked up to see Sae and Makoto looking at him. Makoto seemed almost worried, but Sae's visible eyebrow was furrowed. "Have you eaten today?"

Yusuke tensed. Outsiders, even ones as familiar with the art world as Sae seemed to be wouldn't understand. "I often become lost in my work, as you saw. My regular meal times suffer for it."

Sae's expression didn't change, but she straightened in her chair. "It's good to be focused, but don't neglect your physical health." She turned her attention to Makoto. "Especially if you want to work as a prosecutor. It's grueling enough without you doing anything to add to it."

"A prosecutor," Makoto murmured. For some reason Yusuke couldn't explain, she looked unhappy. "What about you? You look so tired."

"Never mind me. It's just this case and my colleagues." She sighed. "You'll have to learn how to smile and nod and bite your tongue. All the desire for justice in the world won't matter if you can't play politics. The director insists that I attend a party next week that he's holding for someone being promoted and transferred to Kyoto."

"You don't have to go. Surely he understands with your situation—"

Sae gripped the table. Her eyes flashed once more, but it was more than that. Her fingers trembled and her voice was different: sharper, almost broken. "My situation is why I must attend. There's enough gossip that I'm feeble and unable to do my job. My director believes it, and would get rid of me if he could. I must attend to prove I still belong there." She blinked rapidly three times. "My apologies, Mr. Kitagawa, for boring you with office politics."

"Oh no, it's quite interesting." Did every profession require the ability to socialize and to navigate these maddening scripts that were so necessary but that no one bothered to write down? "Do you know much about how to smile at people, then? I'm no good at it myself."

"I'm sure you have a lovely smile," said Makoto with one of her own. "Sis was always going to parties and being interviewed before—well, before."

Yusuke couldn't quite imagine it. Not because of the scars, and she would positively glitter in the dresses women wore to museum galas but... "You're so direct." Like him, except Sae seemed to have learned the rules. "I wish I knew how to do that."

Whatever Sae was going to say was cut off by her cellphone. "I have to take this." She stood and hobbled to the hallway that led to the rest of the apartment. "Niijima."

Yusuke finished the rest of his meal. "This was truly excellent. Could you direct me to the bathroom?"

"Down the hall, first door on your right."

The bathroom was even more opulent than Yusuke had expected. A private bath, not just a shower? Positively obscene. There were handrails affixed to the tub. No doubt an accommodation for Sae's injury. He wiped his hands and left.

One door was partially open, and Sae's voice wafted down the hall. "What? But you never had any problem escorting me when I was dating Ayumi. Yes, I understand. Maiko sounds like a lovely girl. Yes, I'll manage. It was good to talk to you again."

Yusuke approached the half open door. The room appeared to be a small study of some kind, with leather-bound law books on a shelf near the window. Sae sat at her desk, her hands tangled in her hair. "Dammit, Hiroshi. Of all the times for you to meet someone." She looked up and saw him. "I suppose you'll tell me that you weren't eavesdropping, too?"

"I was. But not on purpose." She seemed more tired than angry, and Yusuke dared to enter the room. "You need an escort."

"Of course. You can't show up to these parties alone. It isn't done." She laughed, not the amused sound of earlier, but something bitter. "I can't exactly find someone the usual way."

"At least you wouldn't humiliate your sensei every time you tried. The social aspects of our professions are dreadfully complicated." Yusuke closed his eyes. "I meant it when I said. I wish I knew how to navigate the world like you do. I don't think it comes naturally to you, but at least you can manage it."

"It's practice mostly."

"But how can I get practice if I'm never permitted it? I know Sensei has my best interests at heart, but the current situation is unsustainable." An idea came to him. Perhaps his newfound rebellion or perhaps another gift from the gods. Or perhaps foolishness. "Might I accompany you?"

Sae stared at him. "What?"

"I know some young people go to these parties. That Detective Prince fellow, for one. And the other guests are bound to be the sort of people that I'll one day be selling my pieces to. I must learn how to deal with them."

"A high school art student hobnobbing with a bunch of prosecutors. I don't think your master will like that."

No, Sensei probably wouldn't. He hadn't liked Yusuke going on the class trip last year, either, but he had relented when Yusuke had saved him from his art block. "I'll explain it to him as I have you. I can't continue staying home or moving quietly on the sidelines like an invalid."

"Invalid," she whispered almost too quietly for Yusuke to hear. "Yes, Mr. Kitagawa, I think I will allow you to escort me to this party. If nothing else, it should prove that I won't be cowed. Sunday at 7:30. Your school uniform should suffice."

"Thank you!" He bowed. "Now I just have to return home and—" Home. He was supposed to clean before Sensei returned. Meetings with the museum could stretch for hours, but he'd be lucky to make it home before Sensei. "I have to go."

Yusuke arrived home panting and sweating, but there was no sign of Sensei. He grabbed a broom and contemplated how best to tell Sensei of his decision.  _It's time you let me grow up._  No, too confrontational and ungrateful besides _. I think it will help me grow as an artist._  That had possibilities, but it was vague.  _I could be of more help at exhibits._  That might be the best approach. Sensei was the greatest artist alive, but he was practical about everything else.

Sensei stepped through the door. "I'm home." He surveyed the house. "I thought I told you to clean." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, my boy. You know how meetings can be. Did something happen?"

Yusuke swallowed down the lump in his throat. There was no way to hide where he had been when his entire plan hinged on escorting Sae. "You recall Ms. Niijima? I was seized with the desire to make some reference sketches. Time got away from me." True as far as it went. "She needs my help."

"Of course she does. It's a miracle that she hasn't given up on life entirely. Tragic, but there's nothing we can do for her. Put it out of your mind."

Now, before he lost his nerve. "I want to go with her to a party. I know I'm awkward and you're trying to protect me, but I hate that you have to navigate the world for me."

"It's no trouble. I assumed responsibility for you the day I took you in."

"But you won't always be there. What about once I leave Kosei? And I could help you as you socialize."

Sensei's eyes were hard. "That woman. No doubt this is petty revenge upon me for some slight. You would be completely lost, Yusuke. All the meaningless gossip."

"If I'm lost, then I must learn to find my way." There must be some way to fit into this world without losing every part of himself. There must be some way to convince Sensei. "Please, I'll—"

His heart sank. Yes, he knew what would make Sensei relent. "My painting of the perfect woman. You can have it to do with as you see fit."

"That pipe dream? I'll need a more immediate piece if we're going to stay solvent." He laughed. "Yusuke Kitagawa making small talk with prosecutors. What a… charming image. Very well. I'll allow you the experience. Maybe then you will see why I keep you home."

"Thank you, Sensei." Somehow, with Sae Niijima's help, Yusuke would learn to be free.


	3. Yukata

Sae had once enjoyed office parties. They could be tedious, and it was unpleasant to be forced to hide a part of herself when her current partner happened to be a woman, but it had been a thrill to be the center of attention, basking in the glamour of being the Champion of Justice who received the attention other prosecutors on the dreamed of. But as she surveyed the contents of closet, all she felt was a slow, creeping nausea.

The dresses that belonged to her former life were still there. Not as tasteless as the demon who haunted her drug-addled nightmares, but still cut to flatter a woman aware of her beauty. But Sae was scarred, and evening wear would only cause more gossip and staring at her disfigurement than she would already have to endure.

Then she saw the solution, and her nausea intensified. The yukata hung at the back of her closet. She had only worn it once, for an excursion to a shrine in Hakone that Ayumi had insisted on. If was dark blue, the silk has high-quality as everything else she owned. It would cover her legs and the scars on her body without seeming too dowdy. But it felt like a betrayal. She had spent her life running from the tradition that would have seen her only as a wife and mother. She was modern, professional. Everything that the yukata was not. And yet...she could imagine the sniggers at the Wilton at a woman who dared to show off a twisted leg and a lattice of scars. She took the yukata.

"Sis, are you—oh." Makoto took a tentative step into the room. "Do you want me to come back later?"

"No. Can you help me with my hair? You always were better at parting it." Sae smiled at the memory. When they were children, Makoto had been fascinated by her sister's long silver hair and had taken any chance she could to play with it. That was how they should have stayed: sisters who had fun together and told each other secrets instead of guardian and ward that made her worry about Makoto being safe and provided for instead of happy.

 _Parasite_ , said the voice in her head.

"To the left?" Makoto asked, but they both knew that it wasn't really a question. Attempting to hide her scars might be a futile endeavor, but the moment you stop trying, you started the slow descent to becoming one of those invalids who needed an aide to clean you and dress you. Makoto brushed her hair to one side. At least she could hide some of the jagged edges.

"Thank you." See, she isn't a parasite.

"You're welcome." Makoto seemed almost surprised at the courtesy. "I think it's good of you to get out like this."

"I go to work and I ride. I don't have the time or energy to do anything else and still fulfill my responsibilities to you." Unbidden images flashed across her mind: staring up at Mount Fuji with the other tourists and being so overcome that she had taken Ayumi's hand, wearing the hats with silly ears during an impromptu trip to Destinyland after a boyfriend had confessed that he had never been, posing nude the first time after she passed the bar and being thrilled at indulging this side of herself that are straitlaced coworkers would never know about. "And anyway, these parties are effectively mandatory. I hope I haven't made a mistake, not taking you. It's never too early to make contacts."

"I don't mind. It's kinder of you to take Kitagawa."

Kind. The dark presence within Sae recoiled at the word. Oh, you don't like that do you? "I hope it's a kindness to him. He was so strange, in a way Ayumi and the other artists she had known had never been. Sad. Earnest and awkward and blunt, but not cruel, or at least not intentionally. And he had truly seemed not to care about her disfigurement. He was fascinated with her hands, her eyes. And it had been nice to be admired, to put herself on display because it was her choice to show off a positive. Perhaps, Kitagawa was merely flattering her vanity, but for the hour he had been here, she had felt a bit like her old self. That was worth a meal and an escort to the Wilton.

Makoto finished her hair. Sae would never be a beauty again, and the flowing material of the yukata felt awkward, but her hair was glossy and the good half of her face adorned with the subtle makeup that she had always worn. She looked like a woman who belonged at the prosecutor's office. "Thank you," she said again. If remembering basic politeness kept away the imp of the perverse during waking hours, she would be so courteous that even Akechi couldn't find fault.

The doorman buzzed. "Ms. Niijima? Yusuke Kitagawa to see you."

Sae took a deep breath and willed the tremor in her hands to stop. She had once been the toast of all Japan. She could handle an office party and a socially-awkward high school student. "He's expected."

Kitagawa arrived a few minutes later. His hair still fell a little too much in front of his eyes to be entirely respectable, and his uniform still looked too big for him, but he had added the blazer and he stood with perfect posture as they looked at each other. "Ms. Niijima? Am I presentable? Sensei was no help at all as he prefers traditional garb." He gestured wildly to the yukata. "Should I have worn traditional garb? I don't have enough money for train fare home, but I would probably make it back in time if I walked and—" He took a breath to steady himself. "Pardon my manners. Hello. You look lovely."

Sae forced her face to be impassive. Growling would be counterproductive. The entire point of the evening was for Kitagawa to work on his social awkwardness. It was going to be a long evening. "Hello. I told you your uniform would suffice and I meant it. You look more professional than some of my colleagues.

He beamed at the compliment. Makoto was beaming too. "Enjoy yourself tonight."

"It's only a party. And, yes, a kindness. I won't insult you by reminding you to do your homework while I'm gone." She turned to Kitagawa. "Shall we go? We have to get the car. I walk slowly, but we should arrive in plenty of time."

He nodded, accepting this. Prosecutor and artist lumbered towards the parking garage. A few of her neighbors stopped to gawk, though whether they were transfixed by the novelty of Sae in a yukata or the student at her side, she couldn't say. Kitagawa was silent, taking in the sights around him. He had seemed so fascinated by the elegance of the apartment the other day. Really, Madarame should have accustomed him to such things by now. He could talk about "detachment from worldly desires" all he liked, but Sae remembered his mistress and her art collection worth over sixty million yen.

She'd always had a weakness for black Leopards and had never seen a reason to stop. Kitagawa's eyes nearly popped out of his head again. Sae couldn't decide if it was charming or irritating. "Is that...well I'd never dreamed I would be able to ride in such a luxurious vehicle." He had the same thrilled, scandalized tone Sae had had the first time a girlfriend had asked her to model. Charming, she decided. Definitely charming.

"And the heated seats in winter are a lifesaver," she said with a smile.

They rode together in silence. Kitagawa seemed content to look out the window while Sae mentally rehearsed Small talk. Yes, the weather had been a bit chilly lately, the caseload was always getting bigger but it couldn't really be helped. Had they tried the new restaurant in Shibuya? The same polite inanities as always.

"Excuse me." Kitagawa's voice pierced the silence. "What are you whispering under your breath? Is it something I need to know?"

Sae bit back a curse. She must be really nervous if she were talking to herself. "Merely practicing how to navigate the conversation tonight. No one's really interested in what anyone else says unless it's about a case or really juicy gossip, but we have to keep up appearances."

"Ah." He thought for a moment, then frowned. "If no one is interested in what anyone has to say, then why do they talk?"

"I...have no idea. I think it makes the people at the top feel even more important, and those of us at the bottom have to fit in to survive."

"And I am at the bottom, aren't I?" He sighed. "What do I talk about?"

"Mostly, people will expect you to smile and nod. You— Don't matter. You're just a student I'm letting be here out of charity. That's what they would say." But Kitagawa looked as if people had told him that he didn't matter for most of his life. "There's no one you need to impress here. Say you're an artist. It makes them feel cultured. People watch. Maybe inspiration will strike. And Akechi will be there. He's around your age." Akechi had mentioned that he had a lead on the shutdowns. Maybe she could get him alone long enough to do her actual job.

The Wilton Hotel never changed: the same gold and cream color scheme, the same almost invisible staff. Even the patrons blurred into a sea of identical suits and dresses. Chatter and soft music collided into a gentle cacophony. Kitagawa pressed close to her. "It's terribly loud. I can hardly concentrate."

"Smile and nod and don't wear yourself out." Her leg throbbed slightly, as if to remind her that she too needed to pace herself.

They stepped into the press. Most of the people were her colleagues or prosecutors from other departments and their significant others, but there were always a few ambitious law students, business people, or others desperate to make a connection. Sae limped through the crowd, glancing behind her every few seconds to make sure that Kitagawa hadn't been swallowed up by the crowd. People paused for the briefest of moments as they passed, watching. Even those who worked with her every day seemed to struggle to hide their fascination. Sae kept her head held high.

"I see you've decided to be sociable," said her director. He held a wine glass in one hand. "Good. You of all people know how critical relationships are to our work."

Sae suppressed a smile. For the director to address her so early in the evening was a sign of favor. Perhaps she was finally proving that she still had value. "Of course sir."

He smiled. It was warm and sympathetic, but there was a glint in his eyes that Sae didn't like. "You should try the wine." His gaze swept over her legs. "Oh. I forgot. You gave up drinking. My apologies. Well, more's the pity."

Sae winced. That—that...he probably knew more about how her medication interacted with alcohol then she did. But he was her director, so she plastered on a smile that made her face ache. "I'll do that, sir."

"Good. As long as you prove you're a team player when the cameras aren't around and you continue to prove you can handle the demands of the job, there might be a bright future for you here in the SIU. From small things come great rewards."

Sae understood. The time where merely showing up at the office and doing her job was over. But endure the petty misappropriation cases and put up with the insults and maybe she could dream of a promotion. "Great things produce even greater rewards. The mental shutdown case must be solved."

He chuckled. "And you think you're just the woman to do it. Always ambitious, Champion. But I'm not convinced they're connected, and I'd hate to see you exhaust yourself." He scanned the crowd. "Ah, there's Representative Ooe. Excuse me."

Sae gritted her teeth. More slights. She had been a fool to take on the yakuza, but she was still the best prosecutor the SIU had. And the cases were connected. The results were too similar and strange for it to be otherwise, and yet she was dismissed because she was disabled and a woman.

"Does your director dislike you?" Kitagawa asked. "He doesn't seem to hold you in high regard."

It must be obvious if even he was picking up on it. "I'll prove him wrong. All I need is time and a lead."

"You were so snappish with me the other day, and yet you endured his treatment of you."

"Don't say it so loudly." He was here to learn, and maybe she could teach him the lesson Makoto hadn't yet absorbed. "We endure treatment we hate to survive. Right now, he has the power. But if I can outlast him and solve this case, then I'll have respect and a promotion and all the power that comes with that. Do you understand? Insults don't matter as long as you live to fight another day."

"I understand," he whispered with such pain that Sae had a brief, irrational desire to put her hand on his shoulder.

They made their way to the buffet. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary—tuna and eel, rice and sweets—but Kitagawa's eyes glittered with ill-disguised greed. "All we can eat? Truly?"

"That's what 'all-you-can-eat buffet means, kid." Ai Kinoka smiled as she helped herself to some steak. She was a homicide prosecutor who nodded and didn't stare when she passed Sae in the halls and the restroom, and they had passed files back and forth on a few cases. When you were two of the only women in the prosecutors office, that almost made you friends. "Niijima's finally feeling well enough to party. And wearing a yukata. Now I've seen everything."

"There's nothing unusual about wearing a yukata," said Kitagawa as he looked up from dumping a cut of sirloin on to his plate. "I wear a yukata. So does Sensei."

"Yes, but your livelihood doesn't depend on bucking tradition." Kinoka turned back to Sae. "Cute kid. Who's your friend?"

Sae made the introductions. "Kitagawa is a pupil of Madarame's. He's here observing." With any luck, Kinoka wouldn't ask what was observing.

She didn't. She pursed her lips. "Madarame...that reminds me, there was something I wanted to pick your and Akechi's brains about. Have you seen him?"

"Not yet." She wished he would arrive and save her from this small talk, condescension, and pity."

The ache in Sae's leg had intensified by the time they made it back to their table. She took deep, even breaths. Whatever happened, she mustn't let the pain show on her face. Her weakness would be all over the office by morning. As long as she didn't overexert herself, she could make it through. Maybe she wouldn't need the painkillers and the demon they brought.

 _I'm always here_ , said the soft voice.  _The drugs just let us talk face-to-face. After all, I'm the real you._

"Shut up," Sae whispered.

Kitagawa paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Are you all right."

"Fine." The only thing worse than being seen as weak was being seen as crazy. "I'm afraid that I'm not a very good teacher. Out of practice at this."

"There's nothing wrong with wearing a yukata. You do look quite pleasing, and it's part of your heritage."

Anything to change the subject. "I've always preferred Western dress. It's more professional for a woman. Kimonos and yukata are for wives and mothers. Traditional roles, traditional dress."

Kitagawa laughed so loudly that the couple at the next table stared at them. It was a deep, rich, mortifying sound. "What a fine joke." He looked around and his face flushed. "No one's laughing. That's truly what you think of the yukata?" Embarrassment and horror had replaced mirth in his voice.

Sae nodded.

"But that's—Hojo Masako and Tomoe Gozen are part of this nation's patrimony. What is a prosecutor but a mix of politician and warrior?" Kitagawa leaned forward in his chair, his voice breaking as he spoke. "You should feel honored to connect with such tradition. Anyone who uses our noble past to limit you is the one who is disgracing the yukata,"

The couple at the next table was listening again, but with admiration this time. Sae swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you. That was a very good speech. I don't think you needed my help at all."

Kitagawa beamed.

"Sae and a gentleman who can combine the defense of feminism and traditional dress." Akechi approached their table, as bright-eyed and chipper as ever. "You must try the crepes. They're delicious."

Kitagawa rose and bowed. "You're the Detective Prince. I've seen you on television."

"I have been granted a small measure of notoriety, true. Less so than Sae, but I hope I use it as well as she did.

The pain scraped at Sae's leg. Akechi was a prodigy and one of the few investigators she trusted absolutely, but he mentioned her former adulation every chance he got, probably to reassure himself that he had something in common with the adults. "I need to speak with you in private."

"And I you." He turned to Kitagawa. "Will you be comfortable by yourself for a few minutes."

"I'm quite used to being alone."

Someone should deliver a stern lecture to those bullies or to Madarame or to whoever was responsible. But duty called. She hobbled forward until she and Akechi were huddled into the corner nearest the kitchens. Kinoka was already there, watching Sae with obvious concern. "Do I need to get a chair?"

Sae braced herself against the wall. "It would draw even more attention to us. You said you had a lead, Akechi?"

"I do. Or rather, Ms. Kinoka does."

Kinoka leaned in close and lowered her voice. "You know Yasuo Joichi? We've been after the guy for years."

"Get in line behind Organized Crime." Joichi was dirty even by real estate standards, buying up businesses and apartments in poor neighborhoods, jacking up the rent, and then luring well-heeled foreigners with promises of artinsal coffee stores and boutique fashion. He bragged openly of driving poor proprietors out of business and flaunted his wealth with gaudy jewelry more at home and a host club. And there were rumors of what happened when people refused to sell, that Joichi was make-deep in with the yakuza. Rumors she had never been able to prove, alas. "You caught a break."

"Maybe. Joichi's been playing around with some new ventures, lately. Mostly losing his shirt, except for one investment: Natsumi and Associates Art Consulting."

"The people who are responsible for half the artists in the triennial?" Everyone even tangentially related to the Tokyo art scene knew about Natsumi. They specialized in turning young, unknown artists into superstars. Newly wealthy hedge fund managers and Hollywood producers and actors called them when they wanted a touch of the exotic. Prefectures consulted them on public art projects. One of their clients had gone from obscurity to superstardom overnight when a painting had sold for four billion yen. And Ayumi...Ayumi was with them now.

"I thought that would get your attention. Anything Joichi is interested in, we're interested in. And seems they've been diversifying their holdings lately, They've been buying up a lot of Madarames over the last few years. And each purchase occurred within days of a shutdown."

"I doubt Madarame himself is aware how his work is being used," Akechi stroked his chin. "Art is a good investment, and he doesn't benefit from screening the buyers. Natsumi, though..." He shook his head. "Joichi is, bluntly, too stupid to mastermind a conspiracy, but every such enterprise needs its patsies and money men. Though this one is particularly loathsome on his own merits."

"Personal experience?" Kinoka asked.

Akechi's smooth smile faltered. "I did not always hold the exalted position that I do now. I saw firsthand what men like Joichi do to those who can least afford it. If he is a conspirator, I doubt his fellows would miss him. They'd probably thank you. More of the pie for them, you see."

But even worms like that had value. If she could bring down Joichi and flip him there would be no question of her competence ever again. "I may have to call on Natsumi. Thank you both."

"If this works out, I want some of the credit." Kinoka smiled. "I want to be the golden girl for once."

"All that glitters..." said Akechi with a smile. He took Sae by her free arm and led her back to the party. "It will mean returning to the art world."

"I was never a member, just a hanger-on with an expensive hobby. And I will do whatever I have to to solve this case." She allowed herself a small smile. "And if Madarame's works really are being used to launder the money, the embarrassment will almost be worth it."

"What embarrassment?"

Of all the...Madarame himself stood at the edge of the throng, smiling cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"

"Such manners." He tutted. "I wanted to see how Yusuke was getting along. Where is he?" He frowned and shook his head. "He hasn't embarrassed you already, has he? He has such trouble in crowds."

"Mr. Kitagawa has conducted himself quite well. Better than I expected, actually."

"Really? That's...unexpected."

Sae narrowed her eyes. Any student who wanted to be anything in the art world dreamed of studying with the great Madarame, but such things had their price. He was known to be strict, forbidding all worldly pleasure. Many had cracked. One had committed suicide shortly after leaving his tutelage. Weakness, said those who had never thought of the shadows in the dark of night. Harsh, perhaps too harsh, but such was the way of the world. Students who failed the Center Test committed suicide, too. And yet, Madarame seemed almost disappointed. "I trust you do everything you can to help him thrive in these situations."

"I'm offended you would think otherwise. Yusuke is my son, legally. You of all people should know what an effort it takes to become someone's guardian." He took a deep breath. "But Yusuke is eccentric. I'm surprised he hasn't challenged someone to a duel for offending his sense of aesthetics."

"Well, he hasn't. You might consider taking him out more often."

"I might." He scanned the crowd as the director had done. "My, one of your colleagues looks like he's had a bit too much to drink. I should assist him." And with that, he vanished.

Akechi watched him go. "You and Madarame truly dislike each other, don't you?"

"Yes." Sae was too pained and exhausted for niceties. "I took his mistress from him. And the artists who were my friends and...more were younger, more adventurous, on the canvas and in the real world. According to him, we were scandalous and should have failed."

"You? Improper? I shall alert the press." He thought for a moment. "It's nothing that I would have to arrest you over, I hope?"

"Nothing like that. And nothing that is any of your concern." Sometimes, she could almost feel Ayumi's teeth scraping her skin. Now pain was her constant companion. There was a lesson in there somewhere.

She found Kitagawa as she had left him, devouring what looked to be an entirely different steak. Did no one else feed him? He looked up as she and Akechi approached. "Did you have a nice time. I mean, was it productive? I mean—my apologies. The noise is fatiguing."

"It's fatiguing for me, too. We don't have to stay much longer." She and Akechi looked at each other. "Has Madarame mentioned Natsumi lately?"

"Not that I can recall. He has his own agents for the primary market." He scowled. "They are so dreadfully commercial. No respect for beauty, just what they can sell. And they taint every artist they touch. Taking private jets to Switzerland and promoting their works as if they were circus performers instead of artists. My word." He panted. "Again, my apologies."

Akechi seemed unperturbed. "It's natural to become angry when things we love are perverted. And yet, they could do much to help you. Don't they offer scholarships to students? Perhaps Sae could introduce you."

Sae understood. "I'm not using him as bait."

"Bait? What's going on?"

Akechi ignored him. "Bait implies Mr. Kitagawa would be in danger himself. This is merely a pretext, an excuse to reinsert yourself into the art world. You could show him around at the galleries and such if you needed to make it look real."

"Sensei would never agree. Natsumi is everything his art is not. Everything I never want my art to be." A pained look flashed across his face. "But to meet with real gallery owners…"

"I'm sure Sae would be happy to arrange it for you."

Sae glared at Akechi. It was one thing to take Kitagawa out for an evening, quite another to use him even tangentially in an investigation and to keep taking him out. Despite her and Madarame's mutual loathing, he wasn't demand across without a good reason.

"Well, look who finally decided that she wanted to look like a real woman." A man lurched towards them, red-faced from too much alcohol. Sae groaned inwardly. Taki Inutse was legendary among the female prosecutors for his willingness to grope any of them while simultaneously holding forth that the country would be better off if they returned home and popped out children like they were supposed to. "Though with a face like that, it's probably too late too find someone to marry you."

Rage simmered beneath Sae's skin. She ought to hit him in the face with her cane, remind him that he was just another prosecutor and not nearly as indispensable as he thought he was. But scenes meant got some. "Go home. Save yourself some embarrassment. "

"Me? Embarrassed? You're the one who should be embarrassed. Parading around the office like you're one of the men, taking good cases that should've been mine. Being crippled wasn't a big enough hint that you don't belong?" He gestured wildly to the yukata. "Why don't you go all the way and just slink into the background like a good little girl?"

Sae wondered if she could get away with choking him. Her kickboxing days were over, but her ground game was good enough that she could have Inutse begging for mercy before he knew what had happened. Akechi might even cover for her. "The background is for prosecutors of your skill level, not mine."

It took a comically long moment for her words to register. Inutse spluttered. "Are you insulting me?"

People were beginning to stare. Sae's cheeks burned. She had drawn too much of the wrong kind of attention tonight. Akechi took Inutse by the arm. "That's enough now, sir."

Inutse jerked away. "I won't be insulted by this parody of a woman who dishonors everything about this country, right down to the clothes. I ought to—"

"You ought to be silent!" Kitagawa bolted from his chair. "It's people like you who disgrace this country! Pigeonholing people into your own narrow binary. Mocking them for things they cannot control!"

"Who are you? Niijima's cheering section? Or something else?" Inutse's eyes glittered with ill-concealed malice. "Are you dating teenagers now? I thought it was only men who paid kids to hang out with them, but you always did want what we had."

"That's enough, Inutse!" Akechi pulled him back.

"I will not have you cast aspersions on the character of a woman who has been so kind to me." Kitagawa's voice softened, and his eyes were hard and cold. "Retract your slander immediately or I'll bring you up on charges for defamation."

This couldn't be happening. It was defamation, but Inutse and his friends would make sure he never saw the inside of a courtroom. She and Kitagawa would both be laughing stocks. The director would have his chance to be rid of her. "I can defend myself."

"Heh, you couldn't defend yourself from the yakuza. Do you even know who I am?"

"A bully, among other things."

Inutse roared drew back a fist. Kitagawa dodged. Drink had made Inutse clumsy and he wobbled forward before crashing to the floor. For a long second Sae forgot how to breathe as she looked at the groaning Inutse. Nothing was ever supposed to happen at these parties. She was supposed to keep her head down and smile and nod and prove that she was a competent prosecutor. Not be fought over like a heroine in a poem.

The room exploded.

"Inutse's finally gone too far this time. Bullying a child."

"Niijima never was very feminine, you have to admit."

"And it was such a nice party."

"I hope this doesn't make the paper. The public would completely lose confidence in us."

"Oh, I am going to have such a story tomorrow."

Sae collapsed into her chair. A story. This was going to be all over the office by morning. And the papers might pick it up at that. Prosecutor Assaults Art Student Attempting to Defend Other Prosecutor.

Footsteps sounded. Madarame and her director burst through the crowd. Her director merely scowled, but Madarame trembled with rage, his skin pale except for two spots of color on his cheeks. "What is the meaning of this?"

Kitagawa certainly looked very small and very young. "Sensei, I—"

"I knew it was a mistake to let you come here. You're simply too excitable. It's a good thing I was here to save you further embarrassment."

"Mr. Kitagawa did nothing wrong," Akechi offered. "Mr. Inutse fell after attempting to strike Mr. Kitagawa and saying truly vile things about Sae. If I'm not mistaken, he was quite correct to say Inutse should be charged with defamation, though I understand practical concerns may make that unwise."

"You threatened to have a public prosecutor arrested for defamation?" Madarame hastily turned to the director. "My apologies for this disgrace."

"The disgrace appears to be entirely with us." The director jerked his head toward the exit. "Niijima, a word?"

The pain slithered up her leg, blocking out all other emotions, even humiliation. "Can it wait, sir?" She whispered.

He sniffed. "Come by my office first thing in the morning. If we're lucky, this little scandal won't impact anyone's careers in the long-term. You use to be much better about keeping the personal and professional separate." He turned on his heel and walked away.

_See, you're weak. You really should let me take over._

"If you'll excuse us, I'll take Yusuke home for you." Sae was dimly aware of Madarame and Kitagawa leaving.

Sae buried her face in her hands. Couldn't one thing go right for her? She had abandoned her foolish crusades for a justice that didn't exist. What more did the world want from her?

"Will you be up to drive home?" Akechi asked softly.

"Maybe. If I can rest somewhere quiet for a while." The world had seen her weak for long enough tonight.

Akechi practically carried her outside and onto a bench in the hallway. "Easy. Deep breaths."

_From Champion of Justice to being saved by a high schooler. Do you really think you can take on a CEO, the most powerful art conglomerate in the city, and who-knows-what else?_

"Stop," Sae whispered.

"Sae, are you well?"

"I have never been so humiliated!" Madarame's voice was another knife stabbing her already pain-filled brain. "Some of the people in that room were clients! Do you imagine they'll commission me now?"

Sae raised her head. Kitagawa and Madarame stood a few meters away. Madarame loomed over his pupil, the fury that had been veiled in public now set free. Kitagawa cowered. A knife twisted in Sae's heart. The entire incident had been humiliating, but no one should have that look in their eyes.

_Really? If he had just kept his head down, maybe you wouldn't have had a flareup from the excitement._

"I'm sorry, Sensei. I didn't mean—"

"Yes, Yusuke, you will be sorry. From now on you can stay at home. You clearly cannot handle the company of ordinary people."

"Such a bully," Akechi whispered. "Excuse me."

"What are you doing, Akechi?"

But Akechi was already striding forward, all confidence and charm. "Mr. Madarame! How lovely to see you again. I just wanted to thank you for allowing your student to come here tonight. Sae finally being out and about means a great deal to me."

Madarame stepped back and blinked. His cheeks were red. "Pardon me for allowing you to see this, Detective Prince."

"Oh, I've seen such things a thousand times before. Don't trouble yourself about it. But there's no need to be embarrassed by Mr. Kitagawa's actions. Indeed, he may be the key to preventing you from suffering a great deal of embarrassment."

"What sort of embarrassment?"

"During the course of my investigation, I discovered that a number of your pieces had been purchased with the intent of laundering money. I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, but the conspiracy seems to be quite large and anything to do with them would be front-page news."

Madarame's eyes went wide. It would have been comical if Sae hadn't been so much pain. "I assure you that all my business dealings fall within the bounds of the law."

"Naturally. You can't be responsible for the secondary market. Still, it would be better keep your name out of it altogether. I'm sure the police would be more than happy to keep your name out of this investigation—if you consent to Mr. Kitagawa's assistance. Let Sae accompany him to some galleries and such like to provide cover for our investigation."

No. Kitagawa hadn't been able to control himself tonight. It wouldn't be fair to use him. This case was too important. She was already on thin ice. She needed the best.

Kitagawa looked at her. He didn't look passionate or artistic or eccentric. He looked pained and frightened. She had seen that look too many times when she had gone to Family Court to arrange for Makoto's guardianship. Tokyo was stuffed with orphans who depended on the charity of orphanages or foster parents. Children who endured privations that were legal but still shocked the conscience.

Another memory. Madarame standing around a crowd of admirers. " _I don't begrudge anyone their success, but people like Niijima should at least try to fit in. This country depends on everyone knowing their place_."

 _You can't possibly be considering this_ , the voice said.  _He'll only drag you down. I thought we agreed that the only thing that mattered was winning. You can't save Kitagawa. You can't even save yourself_.

Sae smiled grimly. She couldn't keep her strange doppelganger out of her mind. She would take her pills tonight and visit the ruined casino once more. And in the long run, nothing she did would make any difference. But for this moment, she could have a victory over the demon. "I'd be honored to have Mr. Kitagawa's assistance. He needs to make more reference sketches, after all."

Madarame opened his mouth and closed it again. "Well, of course. Anything to assist the authorities. As long as Yusuke continues to fulfill his obligations at home."

"Thank you! Ms. Niijima, I swear I'll assist you however I can." He grew serious. "It seems I must learn to survive Natsumi's corruption."

"Don't thank me, Kitagawa. You're going to help me win." And maybe then Sae could put her ghosts to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and comments appreciated.


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